“The Court,” said Andrek, “has no jurisdiction because the Court now sitting does not constitute a quorum. The Articles of the Intergalactic Arbitration Convention require three-fourths of the Court be present in disputed matters affecting a planet. The matter is certainly in dispute, yet there are only eight members of the Court present. Nine are required.”
“It is true that four of our brothers have already left,” said Poroth. “Under the circumstances, I had to give my consent.” He smiled faintly. “Anything further?”
“Yes, your Honor. My motion is further based on the proposition that no witnesses are present who can testify, of their own knowledge, that the planet under interdiction is in fact Terror. It is basic procedure that the accused is entitled to be confronted by his accusers.”
“What!” burst out Rokon. “Do you deny the planet is Terror?”
“I neither confirm nor deny, your Honor.” Andrek’s voice was chill, correct. “I merely point out that nowhere in the record is the requisite identification of the accused planet. For all this Court can know, Terror is presently orbiting its own sun.”
“You well know there are no witnesses,” grumbled Rokon. “But how could you complain of that? If perchance it be not Terror that we destroy, then your client is saved. Such mistake would place Terror forever beyond the jurisdiction of this court, by reason of double jeopardy.”
“Certainly, your Honor,” said Andrek blandly. “As to that, I speak not so much for my client, but rather as amicus curiae, a friend of the Court. I merely urge the Court that the matter of identification be beyond dispute, to avoid any future embarrassment to the Court.”
“And the point of disputed identification is now, of course, on record,” said Wreeth. His strange features relaxed into something that looked oddly like a smile. “Proceed, Counselor, to the merits of your case.”
“Thank you, your Honor. At the outset, so as not to burden the record, I will concede a number of points. As its name implies, Terror was a planet that generated fear … hatred … loathing. The Court may take judicial notice of the fact that the greed of its people was inexhaustible. During the forty centuries of its interstellar and inter galactic culture, its trading, colonizing, and military ships went everywhere—and seized everything they could carry away. By a certain viewpoint, they ravaged a goodly part of the Home Galaxy. Words to describe these people spring easily to the tongue. They were bullys, cheats; they were treacherous and corrupt. They were degenerates, abominable wretches. They were cruel, obscene, and cowards. Looking back on this vanished race, we see them now as utterly evil.”
He paused somberly. “And came the revolt, the Horror. They lost the great nuke war … everything they had … all their far-flung colonies … and finally their own planet. Not a living thing there survived. And this is how we remember them.”
Andrek looked at the intent faces leaning down at him. “But I can assure the Court, they did not think of themselves in this way. They did not call their planet by our name. No, not ‘Terror.’ That is history’s oversimplifying corruption of the real name, which is, as you probably know, ‘Terra.’ It meant ‘The Land.’ And to them that land was loveliness incarnate. They fought among themselves for it, on the land, and on their seas, and they fought to the death. The names of their battles have come down to us … Thermopylae … The Alamo … Tobruk … Juneau. But so much for their origins. We turn now to their early years in space.
“Within a century of their discovery of the nuclear drive, they had planted colonies on the planets of Centauri and Procyon. And they came singing. In another three hundred years, they had developed the overdrive, and they penetrated the heart of their—and my—galaxy. They colonized my home planet of Goris-Kard. I am one of their distant descendants. For another thousand years, they spread their marvelous science, literature, music, art, laws, and architecture throughout our Home Galaxy. And still the Horror lay ahead. But it was coming, for it was inevitable. Terra’s colonies became rich, powerful, opulent. They made contact with the Magellanic Clouds, then with Andromeda. They grew restive under the yoke of the Mother Planet. There were minor revolts—ruthlessly suppressed by Terra. And then came the alliances, the regroupings. And then the Horror broke. We all know this history. What we seem to forget is that most of us in this room trace our ancestry, by varied mutations, back to Terra, and the intergalactic Ingliz we now speak is but a variant of that ancient mother tongue. We exist here today—in this very room—because Terra existed, and her sons, sitting as this court, must now decide whether she shall finally cease to exist.”
Andrek stood silent a moment. It was time to come to an end. He could go on forever, but that would simply annoy the arbiters. He would have to put together a sharp, pithy summary.
“What, then, is our Terran heritage? We cannot begin to count it. We grant much is memorable evil. Yet, if it is beyond forgetting, it is because it cannot be separated from the good. For Terra has handed down to us a mixture of good and evil, of rapine and laughter, of beauty and tears: the passions that distinguish us from the beasts. And her greatest heritage of all, and the one she most needs at this hour, when there is none to defend her, is mercy.”
“There seems to be one left to defend her,” observed Poroth. His voice was reserved, dry, but his eyes were twinkling. He looked at his chrono. “I trust that completes your summation, Don Andrek. Owing to the lateness of the hour, my brothers and I will now confer and give you a bench decision.”
Andrek bowed and returned to his seat. He twisted around and looked at Iovve curiously. The pilgrim seemed lost in thought, hardly aware the presentation was over. Andrek sighed and stuffed his papers back into his briefcase. He still wondered why he had undertaken the defense. The last hope of returning to any planet in the Home Galaxy was now certainly gone. In fact, sanctuary would probably be denied him in most of the other eleven galaxies. What was left to him now? He did not know. Perhaps he could take the robe of Alea or Ritornel and hide away in a remote monastery. Yet, in a way, he was glad he had done it. For he had, in this action, for the first and only time in his life, evaded the cynical paradox of advocacy: the undertaking to damage or destroy persons who are strangers for the benefit of other strangers, while yet standing ready to turn on an erstwhile client, rending him for the pay of still another stranger. This paradox, too, he mused, is part of my Terran heritage.
He started. Chief Arbiter Poroth was addressing him. He arose and approached the bench.
The Chief Arbiter cleared his throat. “The Recorder will enter the following bench ruling on the motion offered by Don Andrek on behalf of the party Terror, in the case of the Twelve Galaxies vs. Terror, wherein the Court is petitioned to order the preservation of the planet defendant: The petition is denied.”
Andrek’s face fell. He had done his best, for his profession, and for Iovve, and he had lost. Yet, after all, aside from Iovve’s insane scheme, why should it matter? The planet was dead. No one would ever want to live on it again, in or out of the Deep.
He suddenly realized the Chief Arbiter was not through.
“This Court,” continued Poroth, “is convened by and under the joint authority of the Twelve Galaxies. We are sworn to keep the peace, and to punish those who would arouse enmity, internally or externally. In the ancient traditions of each of the Twelve Galaxies runs a prophecy of the ‘Omega’—the final, ultimate destruction of everything. Terror brought us very close to this, and we should never forget it. Under our laws, we are required to destroy planets found guilty of initiating nuclear warfare. The record has clearly established that the defendant Terror is such a planet. In fact, at this moment, the destruct crew is awaiting our order to detonate massive charges already placed in the planet core that will literally atomize it. Yet, doubt has been suggested as to two vital points, to wit, whether we have a quorum, and also whether the planet in question is actually Terror. It is in our discretion to resolve these doubts either way—for destruction, or against. But we will do n
either. We do, however, suspend and stay these proceedings, including any action in respect of the defendant planet, for a period of thirty days, at which time this court shall reconvene and further consider the matter—if the case is then still before us. So ordered.”
The arbiters arose slowly, and the clerk began to chant. “All rise, all rise. This honorable Court stands adjourned.”
Andrek walked back to Iovve. Through the thick brown bristles of his beard, the pilgrim seemed to be smiling.
“Does that satisfy you?” asked Andrek bluntly.
“Yes, of course, dear boy. Ritornel has spoken!”
“Then, my friend, you can start explaining … everything.”
“And so I will, as soon as we get back to the seismographic room.”
Andrek merely shrugged. He did not believe it. Nor did he care very much anymore. Furthermore, at the first opportune moment he planned to part company with Iovve.
8. ANTIMATTER FOR RITORNEL
When they got back to the seismographic room, Iovve stole a look at the great clock overhead, and then, as though to forestall Andrek, pointed to the chairs, and sat down. “Shall we start with Amatar?” he asked.
Andrek started. “Amatar?” If Iovve were really going to talk about Amatar, he would stay awhile. He took a chair and leaned forward. “Yes. I want very much to hear about Amatar.”
“You know about Oberon’s near-fatal injuries, when his ship was caught in the last quake here, eighteen years ago.”
“Huntyr was telling us.”
“Regardless of his motives, Huntyr spoke truly.” Iovve watched Andrek through narrowed eyes. “And he mentioned—the Master Surgeon.”
“Yes. The man who destroyed my brother.”
“And the one who created Amatar.”
“Create—” Andrek gripped the arms of his chair. “What are you saying!”
“You have heard of the practice of parthenogenesis, whereby a single hominid cell is taken from the living body, then developed first into a blastula, which is just a microscopic bubble with a single cavity, then a fully organized gastrula, then finally, after some months, a recognizable hominid fetus?”
“I have heard of it. It was used after the Horror, long ago, when so many monster mutations endangered natural propagation. Today it’s just a medical curiosity.”
“Quite so. But not entirely obsolete. In fact, eighteen years ago, when Oberon lay dying in the hospital wing of the Great House, his uncle, the old Regent, called the Master Surgeon and told him to start the necessary tissue cultures. They hoped that one would succeed, to make an infant Oberon, and preserve the Delfieri line. So the Master Surgeon made the cultures, dozens of them, all from living fragments of costal bone that he was still picking out of Oberon’s chest. Bone fragments made the best tissue cultures, since bone marrow is the best source of blood cells, erythrocytes, leukocytes, and thrombocytes.”
“But Oberon did not die,” interposed Andrek.
“No. Oberon did not die. By then, the Master Surgeon had completed that tour de force known as Rimor.”
“Omere,” said Andrek tonelessly.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking, Omere, your brother. And listening to Omere, Oberon decided to live.”
“So the cultures were thrown out.”
“It wasn’t that simple. When the Master Surgeon reported to the Regent that his nephew would live, the old man instructed the Master Surgeon to destroy the cultures, to avoid problems in the Delfieri succession. But Oberon had other plans. Out of a sense of perversity and boredom, and a desire to inconvenience the Master Surgeon, this arrogant youth had commanded that the vats be moved into his room. And there the cultures died, one by one, until only two were left. And so it was Oberon himself who first noticed, during the ensuing weeks, the strangeness of these last two growths. For neither was quite what it should have been. In particular, Oberon demanded tests for the second of these. Only then did he discover the impossibility.”
“Discover what?” demanded Andrek.
“The impossibility.”
Andrek gritted his teeth. He knew by now he could not accelerate Iovve’s informative process. “Go ahead.”
“Of course. But progress involves a slight detour. Let me digress a moment.”
“By all means.”
“Now don’t pout, my boy. I’m explaining this as fast as I can.”
Andrek groaned inaudibly.
“Sex,” continued Iovve, “is determined by the cell chromosomes. If the cell contains an x chromosome and a y chromosome, the cell is male; cell reproduction—mitosis—will give only more male cells. If the cell contains only x chromosomes, it will be female, and mitosis will give only female cells. The costal bone cells were all male. Subsequent sampling proved that. Yet, mitosis gave only cells containing two x chromosomes: in a word, all female cells. The callus growing in the second vat was a female fetus.”
Andrek did not understand immediately. For one long moment he could only stare at the pilgrim in uncomprehending wonder. And then something seemed to explode inside his head. His lips formed a single word: “Amatar!”
“Yes,” said Iovve. “Amatar, the Motherless One.”
The advocate was stunned. It was not possible to grasp this. He loved Amatar. He hated Oberon. Oberon would kill him. Amatar had saved his life. They were as different as night and day, as black and white; and yet they were the same. Amatar was Oberon.
Iovve watched quizzically the conflicting emotions at play on the advocate’s pale features. Finally Andrek looked up at him. “I think I understand, now. And the other culture was—Kedrys?”
“Yes.”
“How is it explained?”
“The mutations were probably caused by radiation. There was considerable cosmic radiation still bathing Goris-Kard from the recent space quake. Safeguards had been taken, of course. When the cultures were started, our side of the planet faced away from the direction of the Node, and the culture room was encased in a meter of lead. And finally, of course, each culture was started and kept in a lead-lined flask. And yet it is known that two bursts of cosmic radiation passed entirely through the body of the planet, a meter of lead, and finally into the two respective cultures, and precisely in the right gene, and at the right molecular area in the DNA. No other rays entered the chamber: just these two. A millimicron one way or the other, and there would be no Amatar and no Kedrys. With Kedrys the problem is even more difficult. There has to be practically a gamma shower to modify the genes sufficiently to unite avian, hominid, and equine characteristics. Is this chance? In the final plot, does Alea conspire with Ritornel, and is the greatest design helpless without luck? I do not know. One might argue that such chance is ultra-astronomical, that this is too much even for the goddess.”
These philosophical meanderings were wasted on the advocate. He rather suspected that the pilgrim was trying to take flight from the single issue remaining. He would not be diverted.
“Iovve,” he said quietly. “Who are you?”
Iovve shrugged his shoulders. “You may now rightly ask, and I must answer,” he said simply. “And since I have nearly completed my pilgrimage, and will soon be dead, you know that I speak the truth. The ancient Terran jurists had a word for this.”
“Deathbed confession,” said Andrek. “It has a presumption of veracity. So let’s assume, for the purpose of argument, that you are finally going to tell me the truth. Will it be the whole truth?”
“I’ll try,” promised the pilgrim.
Andrek snorted. “Whether you actually do or don’t, at least it should be entertaining just to watch you try. So, go ahead.”
“And so I shall, my dear boy. And I shall begin with the beginning, which is to say, myself. My origins are best understood when viewed in perspective against yours. Your great Home Galaxy is a polyspiral, which means of course that it is mature, since many billions of years are required to condense into the disk shape and to fling out the balancing spiral arms. The stars, consequently,
are nearly all second-generation.”
“Second-generation?” queried Andrek.
“Yes. They are condensed from clouds of hydrogen and cosmic dust containing all the known elements. Such dust is the product of ancient stellar explosions. Let me explain this in steps, so you can understand the vast gulf that separates our two cultures.”
“Please do,” said Andrek. At least this cleared up one point: Iovve was not hominid; he was not even a native of the Home Galaxy. Andrek had rather suspected as much.
Iovve continued. “A galaxy is born as the titanic amorphous masses of hydrogen at the Node condense slowly into stars. These first stars will all be red giants. Tremendous heat and pressures develop, and the hydrogen is fused to helium. Other nuclear reactions take place to make carbon, neon, oxygen… In fact, all the elements up to and including iron are formed in this first stage, within the body of the red giants. Elements higher than iron cannot be formed in this way, since this method of element formation requires the release of energy, and elements higher than iron cannot release energy in this way. So now, when all the fuel is used up, the red giant explodes—a supernova. The elements it has created are blown into space. The explosion harms nothing, because the red giants do not have planets. And actually, the explosion is beneficial, since the dispersed matter can now mix with more hydrogen, and finally again condense, not only into suns, but also into planets. The sun will this time enter a new stage of element formation. It will again convert hydrogen into helium, but now it will do it differently, more economically. Since it now has plenty of carbon (and in fact, all the elements up through and including iron), it produces heat and energy by the carbon cycle. The carbon cycle is curious in that it makes copious quantities of protons. These protons strike the nuclei of the atoms in this new sun, until, by a process of simple nuclear addition, all of the ninety-two stable elements are made. When that sun eventually consumes all its nuclear fuel, and finally explodes, it will, of course, offer a complete system of elements to that sector of the galaxy. By then, the galaxy will be fairly mature; it will be a spiral, like your Home Galaxy. But that’s another story. It’s really that planet that I want to talk about, the one condensed from the dust of the red giant’s explosion. That planet is really quite a primitive thing. I know. I was born there. Our periodic table stopped with element number twenty-six: iron. You may think that this meant we had at least a well-developed ferrous metallurgy, with hearths, reducing ovens, foundrys, rolling mills, and the end products, such as machines made of steel, steel manufactures, steel architecture. But I tell you we had none of this. When the Terrans came, there was only one piece of metallic iron on the face of the whole planet—and that was a small meteorite in a museum. Yet, it could not have been otherwise.
The Ring of Ritornel Page 18